Lord, What Fools
by k-shee
Summary: A Nordic parody of Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream. Denmark, Norway, Sweden and Finland are caught in an epic love square. As if things weren't chaotic enough, Iceland mucks up Fairy King France's attempts at cupid, and the results are the stuff of tragicomedies.
1. Meetings

**Lord, What Fools**

A Nordic Parody

o

Modified Cast:

Lysander—Denmark

Hermia—Norway

Helena—Finland

Demetrius—Sweden

Puck/Robin Goodfellow—Iceland

Egeus—Germania

Duke of Athens—Rome

Fairy King/Oberon—France

Hermia's cousin—Germany

The Duke's grandsons—Veneziano and Romano

o

Meetings

_In which Germany and Veneziano helpfully set the scene_

o

Germany, to be sure, was well-known for his incredible likeness to his grandfather. It was a great amusement of their relatives to compare the two side by side during family gatherings. Last summer saw his grandfather's largest birthday feast yet, and all of their friends and family had been invited. There was much music, dancing and dining, and many opportunities to reconnect with the extended family. An inebriated uncle of his had made him stand next to his grandfather and jested that he could suddenly see how his nephew would look like in fifty years' time, wrinkles and all. Germany and Germania had both turned red, spluttered, and yelled (though in that respect they were different: one had simply yelled said uncle's name in vexation, and the other exclaimed he wasn't old.)

It embarrassed Germany whenever the subject was brought up, if only because it put him at the center of attention, and he was never a social butterfly to begin with. He admired his grandfather for the calm that he exuded, for the constant strength and dignity in his shoulders. His grandfather had always been his role model and his guide, and so while he did feel discomfited at his relatives' teasing, he also felt a bit of pride every time they told him he was just like him.

Indeed, in physical likeness it was unmistakable. He had inherited his grandfather's height and build, the shade of his hair and the color of his eyes. His jaw was strong and his nose cut in the same contour, the shape of his forehead was wide and masculine. In character, they were both made of steel as the strict breadth of their shoulders suggested. They both liked to work and to keep busy, and had a taste for the bland. And of course, they both had a weakness for Italian men.

Speaking of Italian men, one was currently attached to his arm, eyes bright and cheeks glowing faintly pink. "Germany, I can't wait for our wedding! Three days can't pass soon enough. It feels like an eternity!"

In response to the Italian's statement, Germany felt a fond smile lift his mouth. Veneziano had always been so excitable, especially when they were children. It filled Germany's being with warmth to think that all the time he'd spent agonizing over the shift in their relationship had led them to this. He patted a hand on Veneziano's where it rested on his bicep. "The day will arrive very soon, _liebling_. Just think of it. Three more days, and then we will be together in name and soul as well as heart."

Veneziano giggled and reached up his toes to brush his nose against his fiancé's. He smiled into the kiss. "Mmmm…It's a miracle my brother agreed to the engagement at all. You know how he is."

Germany felt his stomach drop slightly at the memory of Romano's murderous face when he'd announced his intention to marry Veneziano. Rome had been all for it of course, he'd known Germany since he was a child and was quite _good_ friends with Germania. There were no obstacles to the union except for Veneziano's grumpy twin brother, who grudgingly caved in when he saw his twin's obvious happiness.

"If you ever hurt him, I will personally rip your testicles with my bare hands and feed them to you." Romano had hissed.

Veneziano squeezed his hand, and Germany brought himself to the present. He cleared his throat and gently guided the other forward. "Let's go then, I'm sure my grandfather is waiting."

"I never understood what we were supposed to be meeting about." Veneziano stumbled a little over his own feet. "Oh, sorry, Germany."

"It's all right." The blond gently righted him. "Anyhow, we're supposed to be talking family business."

"Oh. About what?"

"My cousin Norway. Grandfather is setting up a marriage for him, but he doesn't want it."

"What?" Veneziano blinked. "An arranged marriage? I thought Norway already had a sweetheart."

Sweetheart indeed. Germany sometimes couldn't remember a time when his baby cousin was ever without his Danish friend. It seemed only natural and right that they progressed further into a relationship that was more than friends. It reminded him of, well, him and Veneziano. He caught the sight of their interlocked hands when he looked down. "That he does."

"Then why is your grandfather making him marry someone else? It doesn't seem fair at all! Poor Norway!"

The German felt slightly conflicted. He too felt that it wasn't fair, but his grandfather was an old man who saw things in black and white, and could no longer distinguish the shades of gray in between. "That's why we're going to talk about this with him."

"I understand. But why am I going?"

Germany paused. "What do you mean?"

"These are family affairs," Veneziano gave a tight smile. "I know these are private things. We have them too. Grandpa Roma never includes me in these, though nowadays he lets Lovino sit in." He paused thoughtfully. "I'd like to help because I've known Norway for about as long as I known you, but…I can't speak like you or Romano can. And anyways, what say does an outsider like me have?"

Germany frowned and placed a hand on the other's downturned cheek. A frown seemed so out of place on a face that was meant for smiling. Germany didn't have a talent for words and eloquence either, but he did have this: he kissed Veneziano and swiped a gentle thumb down the line of his jaw.

_Even so, I want you to be there_, his eyes seemed to say when he pulled away. "You are family now, Veneziano. Don't forget that."

With those words, Germany tightened his grip on his betrothed and led them to the familiar sight of his grandfather's office doors.


	2. Favorites

**Lord What Fools**

A Nordic Parody

o

Favorites

_In which Germania plays favorites and Norway does not want._

_o_

"No." The word was intoned loud and clear, leaving no room for argument. The seven people in the room paused as the sound bounced off the ornate walls. They were all surprised at the firmness that could be expressed in such a small word.

Norway had always been quiet. It was just who he was. In the early days of his childhood, it made it a little difficult in gaining friends since he felt no such inclination to socialize with other children. He preferred his cousin Germany's company to any other, until the older boy had found himself a playmate with another boy who was currently his fiancé. Veneziano had a warm and pleasing personality that Norway liked, but the same couldn't be said about his twin. Romano was mean to him, still was, actually, and it had been difficult to play with someone like that. So Norway reverted to staying at home and reading books, and it was nice because his grandfather let him stay in his study. Germania read to him aloud in between the piles of paperwork that never diminished.

He was praised for his good behavior during get-togethers with friends and other nobles, although he tended to shy away from the heavily-perfumed ladies who pinched and coo. He'd met Denmark that way, in these lavish but utterly boring parties, and later on, Finland. Denmark was easy to get along with, though he became incredibly annoying at times, with his brash actions and penchant for trouble. The times he didn't find Denmark annoying were the times he found him amazingly endearing instead.

For a long time they were the very best of friends and constant companions, and they were comfortable with each other that they weren't with anyone else. Some days Denmark was content to stay with Norway in his room and talk for hours. Other times they went to the courtyard or spent a chaperoned day in town. One thing was to be said about the boy—it was never boring around Denmark. He made it seem every time like life was one big adventure.

He'd met two more friends in his teens, Sweden and Finland. Sweden was quiet like him, though perhaps it was more of an inability to express himself than a want for conversation. Norway had watched the other boy shoot up a foot and a half in what seemed like a few months with some measure of awe. Finland by contrast, remained as tall as Norway was and reminded him of a calmer version of Veneziano, sweet and friendly, and just a bit strange.

Throughout his young life, Norway was pampered and protected by the people who surrounded him. Part of it came from his nobility. Part of it stemmed from his appearance. Unlike his cousin or his grandfather, he did not inherit the sturdy build that ran in the family. Instead, he was lean and delicate-looking, with paler hair and softer features. Germania was wont to spoil him on occasion. Norway sometimes caught a look of wistfulness in the older man's gaze, and knew that he reminded his grandfather of his mother. He thought it was some great irony that his mother died in child birth, that he took his first breath as she took her last. They told him she was beautiful, and that her father doted on her like a princess.

Perhaps it was this kind of upbringing that made him so compliant to obedience to his family. He respected his grandfather and even feared him on occasion. He never so much as raised a voice to the old man once, so it was quite shocking to see him raise his chin and defiantly stare up at Germania.

At the start of the meeting, his cousin Germany and Veneziano had arrived arm in arm, and only a few moments later, Veneziano's own grandfather. Rome was a duke and one of Germania's most trusted friends, if not _the_ most trusted friend. In front of Germania's work desk Norway had been made to stand like a naughty school boy, flanked by his sweetheart Denmark and his unwanted suitor, Sweden. It was like that time when the four of them had been caught smuggling wine under the tables at a party, except now instead of bowing his head deferentially and looking pathetic, Norway refused to be ashamed of his decisions.

"Germania," Rome had greeted his old friend with a warm handshake at the beginning of the meeting. "To what do I owe this visit?"

"I'm here to complain about my grandson," Germania sighed and motioned to the taciturn young man as if he were not in the room. "This young man here, Sweden, step forward, has my permission to marry Norway. He's a noble with fair prospects and a good head on his shoulders. I trust him implicitly. The only problem is—"

"I won't marry him," Norway cut in swiftly.

"Do not interrupt me when I am speaking." Germania's present frown deepened. "I am your grandfather and the head of this household. You will do as I say. You will marry Sweden and forget your flirtations with Denmark."

"What if I don't want to?" Norway's hand flew instinctively to cover the clenched fist Denmark had unconsciously made by his side.

Germania ignored the remark and continued to address the duke, claiming that Denmark had cast a spell on his grandson. That he gave him little gifts and serenaded him at his window, thieved his Norway's affections with insincere poems and sent flowers and sweets. That it was all a ruse to seduce Norway into his bed before proper betrothal. That he was destined to stain Norway's honor and imprint woe on his grandson's precious young heart. That their cavorting had hardened Norway against his engagement with Sweden.

Denmark had barked that he had done no such deceit. "It's called courtship! I am courting Norway!"

"Silence, boy!" Germania positively roared. "The engagement was fixed long before. No arguments."

"Now let's calm down," Rome had stepped in between the two. "Settle down, everyone. Let me speak." He put his hands up in a placating gesture. "Norway, it seems that the engagement has been set for quite a time already. Why have you been…interacting with Denmark?"

"If it has, I was not aware of it until very recently." Norway smoothly replied, though his heart was racing, and he could hear each beat in his ears. "I am, intercting with Denmark, as you say, because he has also been my friend for so long and I enjoy his company."

"But Sweden is an admirable young man too, is he not?"

"So is Denmark."

"Surely you could entertain a chance with Sweden, as he is your grandfather's choice."

"I cannot."

"You will have to."

"I will not. I refuse."

Rome sighed quietly and regarded the reticent young man. "It is your grandfather's right as your sire to choose a marriage partner for you. He can cast you out if you do not obey him."

"I am prepared for that."

"By the law, he can have you executed as well."

Norway stared at the tips of his shoes, trying to contain a sudden vertigo. When the dizziness passed, he felt cold, his fingers frozen. "…I know."

"Think about this, lad. You're young. Young hearts heal, and it is your duty as a son and as a member of your family." Rome said, and the way he said it was strange. His voice was laced with quiet despair and regret, as if it were words that had been said to his own heart long ago, and he'd never forgotten.

Beside him, Norway knew, Denmark was shifting uncomfortably, keeping his arms to himself when all he wanted was to hold Norway and shield from such words.

Sweden took initiative during an awkward pause in the conversation. "Norway, I love you." He announced brazenly. "Denmark, stop acting like he's yours. You don't have the right."

Denmark felt his blood reach a boiling point. There was a time when he'd looked at Sweden as a boy and thought him to be his friend. Unfortunately, playful roughhousing and childish rivalry had evolved into a war between the two young men when Sweden made his intentions towards Norway clear. Things were never the same, and a rift had formed in their friendship, if you could still call it that. "Bastard! I'm the one he chose!"

"Germania likes me better."

"Then why don't you just marry _him_, you sad little—"

"I've better prospects. A bigger house, and better connections to regard me."

"I've the same noble blood running through me!"

"I'll make Norway happier than you could."

"How dare you! What about Finland? Do you ever think of him? He's in love with you, you scum. You loved him and left him! How could anyone trust Norway's heart to you after you so wastefully threw away Finland's?!"

"I did nothing of the sort!"

"Oh yeah? You unfaithful bastard. You liar. You cheat!" With every accusation, Denmark took a step into Sweden's personal space, forcing the man backwards. Germania had started yelling at Denmark to stand down above Rome's attempts to preserve what little peace was left. "Selfish, conniving, good-for-nothing—" Denmark grabbed Sweden's collar, cursing the few inches height difference.

Suddenly, everyone was yelling. Chaos had ruled the room. Rome gripped Norway's arms from jumping in between the two volatile young men. Sweden raised a fist and was about to strike his rival when Norway's sharp cry made him check.

"ENOUGH!" Germany bellowed not a moment later. He had been quiet for the duration of the meeting, but he could no longer stifle his own anger at the situation. Veneziano had been clutching his hand as the scene escalated into what could possibly be a full-out brawl. "My love," the brunette had whispered earlier, "this isn't right. Please, do something!"

Now all eyes focused on him, and he felt the static in the room prickle his neck. The air was heavy with tension and with words that had yet to be said. This was a test of character, Germany realized. He was Germania's heir and the soon-to-be spouse of Rome's heir, and it was within his power to soothe the ripples of discord of his house. Think diplomatically, he told himself. Think rationally. A meaningful glance from Norway stiffened his resolve.

"Grandfather, Sweden, I wish to talk to you privately. There are some things I'd like to say that I think the both of you need to hear. Grandfather Rome, ah…" Germany found himself flushing despite himself, never having addressed the man thus.

Veneziano picked up on his discomfort. "Grandfather! Would you like to discuss wedding details with me?"

Rome perked up and patted his grandson's shoulder comfortingly. "Why, of course, little one. You need only ask. Why don't we step into the courtyard while Germany has his discussion with his grandfather…" Rome gazed pointedly at Germania. It was a quiet command to open his ears and his heart.

Germany sighed as he followed Sweden and his grandfather out of the room. "Cousin," Norway quietly called out to him.

Germany paused and regarded the younger man. He sighed again. "I'm sorry things are like this," He murmured. "I'll talk to them for you." Then he nodded to Denmark and closed the door behind him.


	3. Plans

**Lord What Fools**

A Nordic Parody

o

Plans

_In which Denmark and Norway are fluffy and decide to elope._

o

It was a long while before Norway felt like he could breathe again. He had only enough strength in him to lean against Denmark before he felt his knees buckle under him. The room spun around him, so many different shades running past his eyes until Denmark had pushed him into an armchair, leaning into him and brushing his bangs out of his eyes. The Dane had a knee resting on the seat of the armchair, to prop himself up as Norway slumped listlessly into the cushions.

"You're so pale, Nor." Denmark murmured in concern, resting a warm hand on the side of Norway's chilled face.

Norway gave a short, maddened bark of laughter. "I just told my grandfather I'd rather die than not be with you." He leaned into the hand, eyelids drooping. The afternoon sunlight drifting through the large open windows and formed shadows of his long curling eyelashes.

"I'll never let it come to that," Denmark swore. "I'll protect you like always."

"Promises were meant to be broken." There was a sad, dreamy look in Norway's eyes as he looked up at his beloved. "I feel like we're one of those people from those stories I read. Two lovers caught in the midst of war, death, pestilence, what have you. It never ends well."

Denmark snorted. Truth be told, he was panicking inside. That couldn't be defeat he was hearing in Norway's voice. It just couldn't. "Figures. You were never one for happy endings."

"What if it comes to that, Denmark? What if our story ends up as a tragedy?" Norway sighed softly. Denmark's heart quietly broke.

" …Come here." Denmark tenderly gathered Norway into a hug and repositioned them so that he was sitting on the armchair with his beloved cradled in his arms. "It will never come to that, all right? We _will_ find a way to make this work, Sweden be damned."

"Sweden be damned," Norway repeated, chuckling despite himself. "If only he'd go back to Finland. That boy is willing to move mountains for him."

"Yes, and perhaps we could have a thrice-blessed wedding, you and I, him and Fin, your cousin and Veneziano. What I'd give to have an ending like that."

Norway breathed in deeply, Denmark's scent surrounding him where he lay against his chest. "The course of true love never did run smooth."

"True," Denmark smiled. "At least I'm of noble blood like yourself. Now if you were a prince and I were a peasant and you happened to fall in love with me…that would be a tragedy."

Norway started to grin. "Or if you were old."

"Or if you were lame."

"Or married already." Norway's face turned dark and he started to scowl. "In this case one of us is already engaged." He spat the word like it was a curse.

Denmark took Norway's fist in his hand and gently uncurled it. He kissed the knuckles before twining their fingers together. "Consider ourselves lucky. We're healthy and young and we can run away when we need to. We can run away tonight, if you want."

Norway's breath caught in his chest, the paleness of his cheeks taking on a rosy hue. "W-What are you saying?"

Denmark kissed him, slow and sweet. By the end of it, he stared deeply into his beloved eyes, open and sincere. "I have relative a town away who is rich and loves me like a son. We can stay there and get married before anyone can say no. Do you remember my Aunt Poland?"

"You mean your Uncle Poland?" There was a twinkle of amusement in Norway's eyes.

Denmark laughed, and it eased the tension in Norway's shoulders. "He…she specifically stated to be called Aunt. I remember she liked you when you visited with me a few summers ago."

"She liked me?" The Norwegian's eyes had widened in mock surprise. "You mean dressing me up in foppish clothes and parading me through town wasn't a means of torture?"

Denmark was laughing earnestly now. "There wasn't anyone else who could fit her clothes. And she's always wanted a daughter she could dress up to her whims." Norway frowned and punched Denmark's torso.

"I'm a man too, you fool."

"Don't I know it." Denmark's hand crept to lay flat on Norway's chest, right above his heart. They shared a deep, meaningful gaze before Norway leaned in and their mouths moved together in a long, languid kiss, wet and warm. The moments stilled. When they parted, Denmark's eyes had turned soft again, and his voice lowered to a reverent murmur. "Come away with me, Norway. Leave all this sadness behind. I promise to make you happy 'til the end of our days."

Norway blinked, eyelashes fluttering. Beneath his hand on Denmark's chest he could feel the wild beating of the other's heart, just as frantic as his. "Yes," He said breathlessly, the word falling from his lips like a sweet. "Yes. Oh, yes."


	4. Friendships

**Lord, What Fools**

A Nordic Parody

o

Friendships

_In which Norway tells Finland of his plans, and manly crying happens._

o

They parted soon enough with soft kisses and whispered affection. Norway watched Denmark take his horse and gallop away to pack his things and buy the necessary supplies. Poland's house was about a whole day's journey at the least. The day was dying already, so it would be best to be swift if he wanted to meet Denmark by the forest at the edge of town tonight.

Norway went to the stable first to secure his own horse, and found to his consternation that his preferred steed had cast a shoe. "Damnation," he muttered, before assigning a lad to bring it to the smith's. He wasn't a good enough rider to mount the other horses, and with a long trek ahead of him, he didn't want any problems riding.

To his surprise, he'd found that his hands were shaking as he lifted a hand to stroke his favored horse's mane. He muttered darkly again before making his way towards his rooms with every intention to stay there until everyone else went to bed. He was halfway into packing all of his clothes when Finland rapped at his door and let himself in.

"Hello, Norway. I heard about today from Veneziano." Finland said by way of greeting. Norway straightened up to receive a hug from his old friend, but was alarmed to find that Finland wouldn't let go, and that he was sobbing into his front.

"Finland…what's wrong?" Norway cursed himself for asking such a stupid question when he very well knew what was wrong. From the time since the four of them had been childhood friends, Finland had always admired Sweden. It was he who saw past Sweden's gruff exterior first; it was he who encouraged Sweden to be friends with others their age. Norway would have been content leaving the bespectacled boy be if Finland had not gently coaxed Sweden into befriending the other. Now things had taken a turn for the worst and it was partially all their faults.

"How do you do it, Norway?" Finland had desolately moaned, half muffled by the cloth of Norway's shirt. "How do you make him love you? How do you make him worship the very ground you walk on? How do you make him pledge his love to you so easily and so effortlessly? How?" By the end of it he had taken to clutching at Norway's shirt.

"I do nothing." Norway pried the young man's hands from his shirt and grabbed him by the shoulders as if to shake sense into him. "I frown at him, I curse him, I hate him, but he loves me still. It is no fault of mine."

"No, of course not. It's your beauty's fault. If only I were born like you, Norway, if I only had your face. Then maybe Sweden would love me as passionately as he loves you."

Norway shook him again, more violently this time. "Hush. Don't you ever say that. Sweden's a fool to not notice that he already has you."

Finland sniffed and swiped his eyes with the heels of his palms. "If he is a fool, then the bigger fool me. I can't stop loving him, even if trods on my heart like worthless earth."

Norway sighed. "He doesn't deserve you, Finland." He patted the other boy's back for a long while before drawing away. "Here, come sit."

Finland did as he was told and Norway began to touch upon subjects that were neutral and safe, like how the flowers were blooming nicely this year, the books that were fashionable nowadays, and how since Germany's engagement Veneziano had snuck a pasta dish every supper. From there the conversation picked up, and Finland told him how Romano, the older twin, had found a Spanish lover that liked his backtalk and his sass.

"Finland, I didn't know you could be so crass!" Norway smirked. Finland tilted his head in confusion before he repeated the sentence and flushed.

"I meant that he liked Romano's rude attitude, not…not that!" Finland huffed. "Denmark is rubbing off on you too much." Norway wanted to say that Sweden was rubbing off on Finland too, with the way the boy was glaring, but thought better of it. "But yes, maybe that too. Spain has bad taste in men."

"I know who else has bad taste in men." Norway murmured.

"Who?"

Norway blinked disbelievingly at him.

Finland blinked back.

"You, of course! Tall, dark and looming? It's terrible."

Finland gasped and laughed at the same time. It made him hiccup. It was a constant problem of his, the random hiccupping, but he'd learned long ago to simply ignore it when it came. Norway was used to it, but it only exacerbated the hilarity of the moment. "_You_ say that of," A hiccup. "Of _me_?" Finland picked up a pillow and began playfully thrashing the other boy, emphasizing his words with each hit. "_You_ are in lo—love with a crazy, vulg—" A hiccup! "Vulgar, incorrigib—le _loudmouthidiotmoron_!"

By now Norway had dissolved into fitful laughter, hands up to protect his face. Finland began laughing as well, collapsing from the utter silliness of his words. They laughed 'til their cheeks squeezed fat tears out of their eyes, their faces were red and they simply couldn't breathe. It was a cleansing kind of laugh, one that left Norway aching in his stomach and his limbs tired. When the giggles subsided (and so had Finland's hiccups), Norway stared up at the ceiling, arms outstretched on his luxurious bed, all the anxiety in his body much diminished.

"He may be an idiot moron, but he's my idiot moron." He smirked at Finland, finding the other boy at a similar state. Suddenly he turned sober, and he pushed himself up so he could lean his elbow on the mattress. "We're running away tonight," He whispered.

"Who—huh? What?"

Norway swiftly placed a finger against his own lips. Despite knowing that no one could hear their whispering outside the door, he still looked over Finland's shoulder. "We've decided to marry before my grandfather forces me to Sweden."

Finland muffled his cry of surprise, leaning even closer. "Are you sure about this? But where will you go? Where will you stay?"

"To another town, with his relative. We'll be meeting in the forest, at the edge of town. Tonight."

"Isn't that dangerous? Who knows what haunts there when night falls!"

"I've made up my mind." Norway folded his hands solemnly. "You are my friend, Finland, and I trust you with this secret. We might not ever return."

Finland placed his own hands over Norway's. "Not ever? Do you mean to say…this is goodbye? For good?"

"My own grandfather would rather see me dead." Even he couldn't believe his own words.

"Oh, Norway." Finland cried out, wrapping his arms around the other boy again. Norway let him smother him in his embrace.

"Will you stay for dinner?" He asked softly, after Finland had quieted. "It will be my last here."

"Yes, of course! I'll keep you company."

Norway smiled and tried not to look too close to tears himself. "Thank you." He turned his head to hide his face, but Finland saw anyway.


	5. Escape

**Lord What Fools**

A Nordic Parody

o

Escape

_In which dinner is awkward and Norway runs away._

o

Despite his own misgivings, there was little Norway could do to dissuade his grandfather's summons to dinner. He loved the man like a son would a father however many times he would rebel against him, but for now he was far too hurt and angry to talk to the man let alone look at him. So while he would dine with the rest of the family, he steadfastly refused to acknowledge Germania's presence in the room.

The food was delicious. As nobility, they had the means to acquire no less than the best chefs with the most sophisticated palates, but Norway found that he had no taste for it, even if the dishes set before him were his known favorites. Perhaps his grandfather was trying to sweeten his mood for what he was about to say. If so, it was a literal application with the coming of dessert, another favorite, covered in cream and laden with sugar.

Norway shot an amused look at Finland who smiled warily back. No doubt the other boy could feel the undercurrent of static in the room despite Veneziano's attempts to diffuse the tension.

These days, the Italian was an ever-present fixture in the household, so no one batted an eyelash when he sat himself next to Germany and simply began leading the dinner conversation. With Germany more withdrawn than usual and Norway and Germania at odds, it fell to Veneziano and Finland to supply most of the talking. It worked for a time, but no one could help the sudden lapses of awkward silence when the chatting lulled.

From across the table, Germany caught Norway's eye and tried to smile, but couldn't maintain it for more than a few moments. Whatever it was that he had discussed with Germania and Sweden didn't seem to have come out fruitful. Norway felt dread drop into his stomach but schooled his features into a blank mask.

Finally when dessert had finished and there was no putting off what Germania had to say, the elder cleared his throat and rumbled Norway's name. Everyone turned their attentions to the head of the table except for the one who was addressed.

"Norway," Germania repeated. Norway took a silent breath and steeled strength from the very air, slowly lifting his chin.

"Yes, Grandfather?"

Germania bristled slightly at the cold in his grandson's voice but forged on. Norway had inherited that from him, after all, but he loathed that it was turned against him. Nevertheless… "I had hoped that you would do your duty by me as my grandson and by Sweden as your fiancé to abide by our wishes."

Guilt. Oh, how sly. The old man was trying to make his resolve waver, but his self-righteous words had only fueled Norway's decision to leave.

"Your recent behavior is both shocking and appalling. I had always thought you were a good, level-headed young man who knew what was best for his future."

_You mean what is best for yours?_ Norway found himself thinking in the safety of his own mind.

"There is nothing more I can say that I have not said already. But I will say this. I am giving you a day to think about your behavior. The day after tomorrow, you will apologize to me and to Sweden. And you will say goodbye to Denmark." Germania warmed the wine in his glass with a slow swirl before taking a sip. "That is all. No arguments."

Norway didn't feel like swooning like earlier. He didn't feel angry. He didn't even feel sad. It was as if everything he felt today, the frustration, the hurt, the defeat had bled away and left him feeling haggard and cold. The minutes ticked by.

"…I understand, Grandfather," he found himself saying before he could catch the words. They fell like rocks into water, heavy and slow. _I understand perfectly well_. "You needn't say anything more." He stood up quietly, solemnly, keeping his eyes down. "I had only hoped you would see past your pride for love of me, but…" Norway swallowed thickly and quickly blinked away welling tears. "It seems that you do not love me as I'd believed."

The murmured statement traveled well in the noiseless room. Germania's glass stopped halfway to his lips, as if he'd forgotten how to move, unable to process what his own grandson had just said. They all watched as Norway bowed stiffly and closed the door behind him, his heartbroken words leaving them frozen in their seats.

Norway took to his room that night and would not unlock his door in spite of Germany's constant knocking and Veneziano's fervent concern. With his mind on automatic, he changed his clothes to travel wear and hiked on his riding boots, hastening to check his pack. It was a while before the house settled into sleep, but once it did, Norway crept out onto his balcony and crawled down the trellis that the gardener used to grow flowering creepers, crushing the sweet smelling blooms under his boot. He hit the ground running.

The stable wasn't very far, but it would be a challenge to lead his horse out without the stable lad noticing. It was a good thing that the boy, a poor thing with eyebrows as large as his limbs were scrawny, slept deeply, the slumber of an overworked body. Norway mounted his steed without him stirring and took off, never looking back.

The moon guided his way as he swiftly passed through town. The thunder of his horse's hoof beats echoed in his chest until he couldn't tell whether the thrum he was feeling was from the fast gallop or his own heartbeat. Wind rushed against him, whipping his hair from his face and chilling his damp cheeks.

He found Denmark right where they'd agreed to meet, by the large oak tree whose arms shielded them from the condescending gaze of the moon and the stars. With his breath misting in the night he stumbled onto his feet and into his beloved's waiting embrace. The cold that had overtaken his soul was forgotten as soon as Denmark folded him into his arms, and Norway found that he was home.


	6. Desperation

**Lord What Fools**

A Nordic Parody

o

Desperation

_In which Finland is just a _little _bit desperate and Sweden still won't give him the time of day._

o

For most of his life, Finland had always looked up to his tall, quiet friend. Sweden garnered respect wherever he went, simply by his stature and the intense look in his eyes. He was good with his hands, gentle though they were large, and once upon a time when they were young and simple Finland had compared the length of their hands—a kiss, from palm to palm. Even back then they dwarfed his own.

Through the web of their fingers, something clicked inside Finland's head. Rather, something warm wrapped his heart in its soft tendrils, spreading outwards from his chest into his body until he felt flushed all over. Sweden had glanced inquisitively at him, not understanding the profound understanding on Finland's face. It was but a moment, but it left no doubts with the Finn's heart.

That was how Finland knew he was in love.

At the time, his other two best friends, Denmark and Norway, were experiencing a rather unsettling time in their relationship. Somehow childish teasing had morphed into adolescent flirting, innocent smiles had become heavy with something more, and the simple want for company had become the desire for love.

They bickered, of course. They've always done so, and it was even more pronounced when it was not merely friendship on the line, but romance too. It was…different. The way they regarded each other was subtly different, and yet the dynamics of their relationship remained the same. Norway could be cold, Denmark could be rather clueless, and it all lead to misunderstanding. Finland sometimes teased them of being an old married couple, and in a way, it was true. They had spent most of their lives revolving around each other.

Finland could say then that he was content with his life. His friends were happy, Sweden was sweet to him in a way he was to no one else, and with the way things were going, he and Sweden might even come together to match the other twosome. The springtime of his affection would hopefully come to bloom.

Oh, how simple to dream of such things! How naïve he'd been then. How…foolish and daft and utterly stupid!

It should be so easy to understand. Sweden, handsome Sweden, who had passionate eyes and the gentlest of hands, whose smile was like the warmth of candlelight…_that_ Sweden…was not in love with him.

He'd held Finland's heart in his hands, curled his fingers around the soft flesh and slowly squeezed the love out. That was how it felt when it became all too apparent his infatuation with Norway. Finland might have been burrowed at his side, wrapped in Sweden's arms, but it was not Finland he was thinking of. And it had gone on so well at first. Finland welcomed the shift from friendship to lovers, and Sweden had done nothing to discourage it.

There had been others, of course, who took notice of Finland and decided to court him from his window. Some would say Finland rivaled Norway's cool beauty with his tender smile and sparkling eyes, but the Finn had only ever directed those to only one person. The number of suitors lessened when they realized that Finland may smile and accept their gifts graciously, but his heart belonged solely to Sweden.

It was all going so well, until Sweden started to drift away, drawn to another like a moth. It was the little things that gave it away—Sweden stopped touching him, saw little of him and spoke even less. In the resulting fission, Finland was left to pick the pieces, all the while falling apart at the seams himself.

He was falling apart even now, thinking about not too long ago. Sweden then had regarded him with fondness and not the apathy he was wont to display now.

It was his fault too, he supposed. It wasn't that he didn't love Sweden enough to let him go. It was because he loved him too much. Too, too much. Sweden was trying so hard to slip away from him like water through his fingers, but Finland was determined to catch some measure of him by his cupped hands.

This was why he was out here in the woods in the dead of the night. The air was cool and somehow damp, and though the moon was meant to shine out full, it had hidden itself behind a veil of clouds. Finland approached a shadowed figure leaning against a twisted tree and paused for breath.

"Sve. I didn't think you would come."

The young man in question pushed himself off of the tree and into the misty light, his eyes muted and serious. "Finland. You told me Norway was running away. Is it true?"

Finland felt his lips tremble and slowly touched them with his nippy fingers, cupping his hands around his mouth. Had they ever spoken to each other with more than polite indifference? What a faraway memory. "I would never lie to you, Sweden. I swear to you."

"Yes." Sweden nodded. "We swore many things in the past." He observed, his anger making him keep his tongue unchecked.

"We did, didn't we? You swore me happiness and I gave you my heart." Finland said with just a touch of bitterness. "What's happened, Sweden? Why did things change so?"

Sweden sighed deeply, already knowing where things would lead. "Finland, I'm past this already. You should be too."

Finland's icy hands shook, his breath coming in short gasps against them. "Whatever have I done to merit such coldness from you?"

Instead of answering, Sweden let out another breath, turned his back and walked away. It took Finland a long moment to register the fact that Sweden was going away.

"Wait! Sweden, where are you—"

"Finland, go home. I swear to you, go home."

"And I swear I will never leave."

"Don't be stupid. It's not safe out here. Go home and go to your bed."

"Sweden, I…"

"I'm leaving now."

"Wait, but I—I love you!"

The Swede turned around and regarded him incredulously. He stepped forward, slowly, until he backed Finland into a nearby tree. He was close enough that Finland could smell the scent of his skin and his clothes, something earthy, once-familiar and utterly comforting. Finland shivered as Sweden squeezed his shoulders and steadily pushed him into the rough bark. "Why, Finland? Why hurt yourself like this? I can't bring you happiness. I don't feel for you as you for me. I tell you to stay away. Yet you always come back like some—some…dog."

"I am a fool—a fool for you!" Finland answered passionately. "And yes, I am as silly as a dog. Like a dog, the more you beat me, the more I will love you. The more you push me away, the more determined I am to come back."

"Don't say things like that. It makes me sick." Sweden released his hold on Finland and turned to stride away.

"It makes me sick to not be with you. Sweden, wait!"

"Go home, I say!" Sweden roared in frustration. "There is nothing for you here."

"There is everything for me here! You are everything in the world to me. Sweden, please, don't go!"

"Damn it, Finland. It's dangerous here. Go!"

Finland shook his head. "I would rather be mauled following you than stay safe in my bed worrying."

Sweden growled in exasperation. "You foolish little boy. D'you not hear me? Go home! Leave me be! I want nothing to do with you!"

Finland stepped back with a pitiful cry. Sweden's words hit the core of him, shattering the fragile hope he'd been harboring. His knees gave way and he crumpled weakly to the ground, feeling utterly wretched. The grass was damp beneath his cheek, the dew clinging to his fingers where he gripped it in quiet desperation. Sweden hesitated for a moment. Then his footsteps fell away, and all was silent.


	7. Gone Astray

**Lord, What Fools**

A Nordic Parody

o

Gone Astray

_In which Denmark isn't lost; he's just forgotten the way. (Ooh, foreshadowing!)_

o

Norway ceased shivering by the time they'd mounted the horses to make their way through the wood. The moon remained obstructed by sleepy clouds, in turn limiting their light and their vision. Here in the dark, there was everything to fear, yet somehow Norway felt at ease in this glen. It wasn't something that he particularly thought about, only that in his youth he'd always seek a dense copse for a hiding spot. This forest felt like that, a comforting place to screen him away from the world.

He could hear the bubbling of a brook nearby; just close enough for him to hear its faint song. Denmark frowned beside him.

"What? What is it?" Norway breathed.

"Nor, I think we should rest for the night."

Denmark dismounted his horse and secured the reins on the branch of a low-hanging tree. When he put his hands on Norway's waist, the younger man steadied himself on Denmark's shoulder, letting himself be assisted from his horse. Both he and Denmark knew that he was fully capable of alighting by himself, but it was the sweetness of the gesture and not the necessity that made it a habit.

"You've gotten us lost, haven't you?"

Denmark hesitated, but of course he was transparent to Norway. "…Nevertheless. You were listing off to the side, sweetheart."

"You hopeless fool." Norway sighed without any heat and secured his horse beside Denmark's, his hand trailing over his steed's mane. He was surprised when the Dane wrapped his arms around him and tucked his chin over Norway's shoulder.

"It'll be all right, Nor. Everything will be all right." Denmark soothed, keeping them both steady when Norway trembled from fear and weariness. At long last he said:

"It's unfair that I have to choose one or the other. If only my grandfather would see reason."

Denmark only continued to murmur soothing promises in his ear: they will survive this, they will make their own life, and that will be a life happier than the one he will be trapped to live in back home. The gentleness of it was what ultimate broke Norway. To grief and strife he had always been like the oak in the midst of a storm, hard and unwilling to break. But hope, aye, it broke men when they least expected it. Hope crawled like vines around Norway's stone walls, seeking the cracks and the soft places, leaving him chipped away. Hope did not fuel him like it did Denmark, who ran on it like it was his lifeblood. But it made him want to believe, all the same. He'd never live in the same plane as Denmark does, who sees things as they are, who sees the most in bitter situations, but it makes him want to. Denmark makes him want to hope when he is better off being a cynic.

"Let's bed down for the night. We'll make the journey come morning. They'd never find us this far into the woods anyway, and we'd be long gone before they realized it." In his head, Norway began calculating the hours they would have wasted stopping now, worrying himself to death over the slight possibility of being assailed before they could reach their destination.

"Stop thinking and come here." Denmark opened his arms from where he'd already set their sleeping mats on the soft grass. Norway went willingly, and they curled themselves together like they were wont to do as children. Denmark cupped Norway's cheek, and the other did the same, tracing his thumb over Denmark's brow and the tired tightness of his eye. It made his heart ache to think that while he'd been consumed with his own dilemma, he'd forgotten that Denmark was sacrificing everything for him too; the noble name of his house and what little family of it remained.

"I love you." Norway whispered, wanting to say so many things but not knowing how to say them. Things like, _You complete me; I've never known a better man than you; I can't imagine my life without you. _Denmark understood all the same.

"As I you."

Norway felt Denmark breathe a kiss into his hair and his body slack in sleep. Under his hand, Denmark's heart beat strongly and consistently. For him, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep. However, sleep would not come, no matter how long he stayed still, no matter how long he looked up to count the inconstant stars in the sky. Brushing his lips against his lover's forehead, Norway got up to follow the sound of the bubbling brook.

It was not far, and the moon was finally free of the veil of clouds so the path was clear. The water was sweet when Norway cupped it in his hands and drank. It was colder out of the cocoon of Denmark's embrace. Norway wrapped his arms around himself and prayed, very quietly, to the gods old and new that they may grant them safe passage through these troubled times. In time, Norway found his eyelids drooping, allowing them a moments' respite.

He was conscious of the forest, and at the same time disconnected from it. He was aware of it as a living, breathing thing. With his eyes closed, he could feel the spongy moss at his feet, the cry of crickets lulling each other to sleep. A distant owl hooted, and the trees were silent but heavy in their presence. The night was at its peak and nearing the witching hour, yet Norway could only find comfort in it. He drifted off into sleep before he knew it.

He awoke with a gasp sometime later, dread building in his heart. The moon remained as it was, so he had no idea how long he had been sleeping. He only felt that he had left their camp for too long. Denmark would worry if found himself alone, though he'd come to his senses soon and find the track Norway carefully left behind, stepped-on grass and broken twigs. At the best, Denmark would have stayed sleeping and Norway could peacefully burrow at his side. Otherwise…

It was too late in the night for quarrels, even for them, and Norway was too heartsick for it. When he reached the camp, however, the dread arose and threatened to escape as bile, for the horses were gone and Denmark too.

* * *

><p><em>Holy crap, guys, I am sincerely extremely sorry for the long wait. I'd just like to say that I've since recovered my writing slump and am determined to finish this no matter how long it takes. This <em>will _be completed. Thank you for all of my darling reviewers and silent readers. If you've any suggestions to improve this piece, please say so. As in all things, writing is a process, and I will continue to edit and polish these chapters until its completion. Thank you for bearing with me, and I hope you are still enjoying the fruits of my labor._


End file.
